Family Dyes
by Arthurs Merlin
Summary: When local family historian James Carnegie is engaged to Charlotte Matthews terrible events transpire leaving James a recluse until Paige Wilson turns up on his doorstep with a family mystery of her very own...


_Authors Note: The first attempt at my own fiction please be kind and leave feedback _

_Summary: When skeletons emerge from the closet of the renowned Ramsden family suddenly family history becomes a very dangerous business for James Carnegie and his student Paige Wilson…_

_Oh never weep for love that's dead  
>Since love is seldom true<br>But changes his fashion from blue to red,  
>From brightest red to blue,<br>And love was born to an early death  
>And is so seldom true.<em>

_Lizzie Siddal, Pre-Raphaelite Muse and Poet, 1829-1862_

When the world no longer makes sense and the ground beneath your feet begins to shake you know that nothing is going to ever be the same again…

Marsh Wood

Marsh Wood had always been strange, a little quirky curiosity nestled amongst the dark hills at the foot of the expansive Pennine Moor Estate. There were few shops, one school split into two with the infant school located in the heart of the village and the junior school sitting in the shadow of Pule Hill. The village centre was always busy despite the fact it had little going on the people of Marsh Wood were always hurrying along, impatient and busy to get to where they were going.

The older villagers often spent most of their day just 'being' in the village stopping and talking to anyone they could, and more importantly anyone who would actually listen. Since the three large mills had closed the centre of the village had evolved and Peel Street was now lined with wine bars and ice cream parlours. In the fading light of the afternoon cars were rumbling along Brougham Road, the main artery into the village flowing into the centre of the valley and then up and away across the steep valley side into the neighbouring cities of Leeds and Manchester.

When James Carnegie locally renowned family historian looked out of his bedroom window he saw the sloping moors rise and fall, crashing into each other amongst the waves of heather and moorland grass. And on a clear day you could see the flattened edge of the moor side where the old road to Manchester had once lain. When the winds were wild and the clouds thickened the moorland took on a life of its own, a pleather of wildlife and fauna emerged dancing in the wind, animals raced beneath the long swept reeds and clumps of violently purple heather. And as summer drew to a close and the nights got darker the moor landscape was as dramatic as ever when the final day of summer began to fade away into the dark September skies.

On the 1st October 29 year old James happened to be staring out of his window at the expansive wilderness of the Pennine moor when he was disturbed by a knock from below at his front door. Living alone in the two up two down Crumble Cottage he rarely got visitors, except at Christmas when Aunty Joyce would pop round with the traditional Christmas pudding in her mighty VW Range Rover.

James was not a recluse he just had a penchant for disliking people from the village who were so busy and preoccupied with the politics of such a small place that it drove him insane most of the time. On the odd occasion James Carnegie ventured down the long sloping edge of the moor where it met the old Manchester road and into the village centre he was often accosted by his deceased fathers' relatives.

Every time little old June Fairbanks got hold of him she insist that he come round to tea with her two basset hounds and seven cats, James wasn't rude on the contrary many deemed him impeccably well-mannered he just didn't like animals and they didn't like him.

And then there was Ingrid, his father's sister who was always more than three sheets to the wind and would stumble across James' path in the post office on a Monday morning waiting to draw out her time James had met her she had had the distinct aroma of a dead cat and strong malt whisky. His family were peculiar and James had long back begun tracing his ancestry and had made quite a name when he had uncovered the connections of the Ramsden family to the American Civil War in the 1860s.

So it was with some careful surprise and indeed low expectations that he opened his bright blue front door to a stranger.

'I'm looking for James Watson,' she chirped brightly her dark red hair blowing carelessly in the wind; she reached her hand out and poked it back behind her ear.

'What do you want?' he asked sceptically

'I'm Paige Wilson; I'm from the Huddersfield District Family Society. Professor Ward sent me. He said you might have some information about the Ramsden Family I need to look at.' She added flashing her student card

James hadn't heard from his old Professor in nearly two years but he had happy memories which accounted for something. In the past Professor Ward had indeed consulted with selected ex pupils but for James this was the first time a student had physically knocked on his door. Most students these days even had emails on their phones let alone their computers and laptops so it was with some disdained suspicion that James carefully answered

'How did you get up here?'

'I walked,' Paige said honestly and James was impressed with her solid determination 'please can I come in, I'm desperate for the loo,' she added hopping, her shoulder bag loosely flailing at her hips. James looked at her slightly sceptical, he wasn't an overly trusting fellow but he also had a weakness for red headed girls…

10 years ago….

2004 Alkrington Hall, Alkrington, Manchester

It was beautiful. There was no other word for it and when James took her hand and spun her round there was no question that this was where they were to be married. Charlotte Matthews was 19, James 20 and they had been together since before college and had finally decided to get married much to their parents delight.

They had viewed several venues but had finally settled on something in Charlotte's home village, the local hall. It had stunning views over the Wince Brook Valley and on a clear day you could see all the way to the Lancashire foothills of the Pennines. It was a large red brick Georgian property with tall elegant windows running the length of the front façade, it had two giant double doors in the centre of the façade leading down onto the sweeping lawns which ran down to the bottom of the hill in a terraced formation.

James nuzzled her neck and said

'I love you,' Charlotte put her arms around his neck and felt everything was perfect.

But things changed and neither Charlotte nor James ever saw it coming…


End file.
